


What Dean Did

by propinquitous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slight D/s Dynamics, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/pseuds/propinquitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean works up the nerve to go shopping on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dean Did

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thequeergiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/gifts).



Dean pushed open the door and cringed at the color scheme.  The store was draped in pink and white satin, or silk, he didn’t know - it shone faintly in the daylight and he couldn’t believe that he was doing this without cover of darkness.

“Hi, can I help you?” the saleswoman’s voice was bright in a way too similar to the light in the windows.

“Um, no thanks, just looking,” Dean did his best to sound casually uncomfortable, voice gruff but still wavering.

“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” she said and smiled as she turned, heading back behind the counter.  Dean inhaled and half-smiled as he headed toward the back of the store, furthest from the register, to circle around a table that displayed a rainbow of lace.  He inhaled again, letting his fingers drift over the fabric and relishing in the texture.  It was pleasant, a sense of delicacy that pervaded his senses.  He picked up a pair of forest green boy shorts and held them up, peering up at the fluorescent light that shone through the lace.  They’d look good with his eyes.  He knew that.

“Can I offer you a basket?” the saleswoman asked, reappearing from his periphery with a small black mesh bag in hand.  She held it out toward Dean, still smiling.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” he took the basket and tossed the panties in with as little grace as he could manage.  He winced and tightened his grip on the handle.  He kept his eyes on the diamond patterned carpet.

“What sort of things does she like?” the woman’s voice was high pitched but not unpleasant.   Dean still grimaced.

“You know, just, nice things, I guess,” Dean’s answer came out tight.  He wanted to be left alone with this but he knew that she was just trying to help and he couldn’t figure out a way to politely brush her off again.  She smiled, hand balanced on her hip.

“Well, then what sort of things do you like to see her in?” she winked at him.  It was friendly, mildly suggestive.  Dean released a deep breath at the get out of jail free card.

“I’m a sucker for detail,” he admitted, “I like lace.  I like, what’s it called, when you make pictures out of thread?”  He was forgetting English and blushing.

“Embroidery,” the woman smiled more then said, “Okay, well that’s a good start.  Anything else?”

“Tights.  Definitely tights, thigh highs, you know.”  She nodded and Dean noticed a crack in her red lipstick as she smiled.

“Let’s start with that, then.  It’s easiest.”  She kept smiling and led Dean to another table covered in packaging.

“Do you know what size she is?” she asked, and Dean froze.

“Uh, no, not really,” he pulled the basket toward himself and straightened his back.

“Well, how tall is she?” Dean locked his knees.

“She’s tall.  Almost as tall as me,” he said.

“Oh, wow! So about six foot, you think? Okay. Any idea how much she weighs? Or what’s her body type?”  Dean continued to tense.  He felt like his muscles were trying to contract into his bones.

“Um.  She’s pretty muscular.  Not super built or anything, but definitely bigger than the average chick?  Especially in the thighs.”  He shifted back on one foot.

“Okay,” the saleswoman breathed and stared looking through the rows of packages.  “She’s about a large, long length, I’d assume.  These are the colors you can look through,” Dean smiled to one side as she started flipping the packages over.

“So white, beige, or black?” he asked, frowning.

“Unfortunately, yeah. When you get into the larger sizes the options narrow, at least in brick-and-mortars.  But white and black are gorgeous on anyone!”  She kept smiling, pressing packages toward him.  “There might be some pink in here,” she said, turning back to the table.

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” his voice lowered, “I’ll take the black,” he said as he tossed the package into his basket.  He prayed they were the right size.

“Were you interested in a garter belt or suspenders?

“What - why?” Dean’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline.

“This sort of hosiery doesn’t stay up on its own.  It needs a support system, like a garter belt, which goes around the waist and clips the stockings up.  Or you could go with self-stay, which generally have lace tops and rubber on the inside to keep them up.”  Dean paused for half a minute, grip tight around his basket.

“Oh, okay.  The belt.  That sounds sexy.”  The woman winked again.

“It is, trust me,” she said and smiled, “By the way, my name’s Sarah,” her hand extended.

“Dean,” he swallowed and shook her hand.

“All right, Dean, right this way,” she gestured over her shoulder as she walked toward a wall full of what looked like, well, contraptions.  Dean couldn’t think of any other word for it.

“So these are the garter belts,” Sarah said, pulling a drawer open.  “Do you know her waist and hip measurements?”

Dean could answer that, if his recent entanglements with the tape measure were anything to speak of.

“Thirty-two, thirty-eight,” he said without hesitation.

“Okay,” her voice faded as she ducked down and reached into the drawer.  “This should do to start.  Might be a bit small at the waist, but it’ll stretch a little.”  She pulled the drawer out, reaching toward the back and returned a second later and holding a black garment, embroidered at the front and short straps hanging down.  “What do you think?”  Dean’s breath shallowed as he reached out.

“This is gorgeous,” he exhaled, fingers running over the details.  He touched the thicker strands of embroidery, the lines that shaped the winged edges of the hips and the thinner strands that sloped toward the inner seams, forming broad geometric shapes over the front panel.  He ran a finger over the ribbed cotton on the straps and felt a slight shiver down his arm.  He took it from Sarah and put it in the basket.

“Well, aren’t you an easy sell?” Sarah’s voice was teasing but gentle.

“Yeah, like I said, sucker,” Dean smirked.  He felt himself relaxing at Sarah’s presence.  Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, which she did often, and she did not seem to suspect anything.

“Matching panties?” she asked.

“Oh, you know it,” Dean was practically giddy as she handed off another piece of delicate fabric.

“Okay, so what about bras?”  And then Dean froze.  He had zero idea where to begin with that; while he suspected that Busty Asian Beauties was not an accurate source of information, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant for him.

“Um,” he began, voice wavering.  “I don’t know.”

“Do you know her band size?  That’s the measurement directly under the breasts,” she clarified.

“At least, uh, at least a thirty-six, maybe thirty-eight.”

“No problem, but what about her cup size?”  Dean paused.  This might give him away, it might send all the wrong signals and she might decide that he wasn’t worth the sell and he would have to sprint out the door and no, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

“Maybe A, double A, I’m not sure.”

“All right.  Well, we’ve got these brands on sale, if you’re interested.  Fortunately for you, sizes like that don’t generally sell too quickly so there’s lots left to pick from,” she smiled as she started to rifled through the sale bins.  Dean followed her lead and picked through the bins, eventually pulling out a black lace bralette with scalloped edges.

“What do you think about this?”  He asked, unconsciously holding it up against his chest.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous.  Look at the edging around the band, and all that gorgeous lace.  It’s just your style.  And, it’s half off.  Can’t argue with that.”  Dean smiled, looking down at the fabric against his shirt.  He _would_ look good in this. He smiled a little, shyly.

“Well, thanks for your help,” he said, still letting the small smile edge outward.  Sarah paused, a finger on her chin.  She took a step toward Dean.  He flinched momentarily before she spoke, voice pitched low and quiet.

“Did you want to try anything on before you left?” She kept her tone neutral, without judgment as far as Dean could tell.  He blushed.

“Uh,” he stuttered.  Sarah smiled.

“It’s okay.  I can give you some briefs to keep on underneath.  You might as well make sure it all fits.”

He felt his face burning, cheeks on fire and so hot that he was surprised he still had eyebrows.  He couldn’t find words and shifted his weight back and forth, took the basket from his left to his right hand.   Sweat crept out from under his hairline.  “Do you think I could try on the thigh-highs?”  The words surprised him even as they left his mouth and he craned his neck glancing around for other customers.  He couldn’t see anyone.  Sarah kept smiling and nodded.

“Not a problem.  Over here,” she said and walked toward a row of curtained stalls.  “Why don’t you get situated and I’ll be back in just a second with those briefs.”  Dean tilted his chin down once.  He took a step in and sat the basket on the love seat against the far wall, turning back to close the curtain.  He still felt unbearably warm, almost flu-like, and spent several moments breathing deeply, counting the time of each breath.  A few molten seconds passed before Sarah was back, hand through the curtain clutching a piece of beige fabric.  He reached out and took the underwear from her and moved to stick his face between the curtain and wooden partition.

“It’s okay if I take them out of the package?” he asked.  Warmth spread back over his neck.  Sarah sighed in what he hoped was an exaggerated manner.

“Ordinarily, no, but I’m willing to make an exception.  Do you need anything else?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” and he was back behind the curtain desperately willing his body to cool down.  The basket had slumped over and he reached toward it, hand straining toward the bottom for the thin cardboard package.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay.”  The packaging was simple - just a flap tucked into a slit on one side.  All he had to do was pull it out, and pull the stockings out after that, and then pull them on.  Wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans, he slipped a finger under the flap.  He forced himself to follow through and pull the stockings out.

They were thinner than he’d imagined.  As he unwound them from the sheet of thin cardboard that held them in place, he worried that they might snag on his callouses and tried to keep them away from the rougher parts of his hands.  Successfully managing this, he held them up against his leg and decided they’d be long enough.  He gently laid them over the back of the sofa and slipped out of his jeans, paused, and slid his own boxers off in favor of the borrowed briefs.  He grappled with the basket as he searched for the panties.  They blended too well with the black mesh, and so he took out everything - the bra, the panties, the garter belt - and laid them flat on the love seat.  He smiled and felt the last of the heat drain away as he put a foot through leg of the panties.  He reached for the thin nylon next.   A memory of his mom getting dressed on Easter Sunday, rolled hose around her ankle, crossed his mind.  Imitating what he could remember, he bunched the left leg down and vaguely wondered why so few women wore hosiery anymore.

The stocking was up to his knee and he hoisted his foot to balance on the love seat.  He still had trouble keeping his callouses away from the fabric, but so far didn’t think he’d snagged it.  The fabric was almost imperceptible against his hair and skin when he finally pulled the welt to rest on his thigh, and he exhaled audibly.  He lowered his foot to the floor and turned to face the mirror on the left.

It was exactly like he’d imagined.  He didn’t feel silly or like he was playing dress up; he felt _nice_ , felt delicate and small and like the bones in his chest no longer weighed anything.  His face suddenly ached from smiling and he turned back to make short work of the right leg.  The slide of his legs together after that was smoother than he’d ever felt.

The panties had been easy; the stockings tedious but straightforward.  The rest of the garments had hooks and eyes and straps, things that required dexterity and your hands behind your back.  Dean felt himself getting warm again.  His breathing quickened and chest felt heavy again and his lungs had suddenly expanded to twice their natural size.  This was stupid, he shouldn’t be here, he should go home and forget that he’d even tried this.  But he’d wanted it, wanted to take the risk to explore it, so he touched his forehead, took a deep breath.  He reminded himself that this felt good.  Then he reached for the garter belt.

 

 

Dean’s footsteps were loud on the stairs when he walked into the bunker.  Sam turned a sideways eye toward him, looking up from the books spread across the table; if he noticed the bright pink text on the bag’s side or ribbon on the handle, he didn’t mention it.  Dean grinned at him and kept walking, practically skipping and whistling until he got to his room, where he gently placed the bag on his dresser. He smiled, small but strong enough to hurt his cheeks.  Emptying his pockets, he felt himself blush with pleasure as he set his wallet and keys next to it.  
  
“Dean?” Cas’ voice came quietly from the doorway.  Dean’s eyes fluttered from his feet to the bag and back down again before he responded.

“Yeah?” his voice cracked as he answered.  He turned around.

“What’s that?” Cas asked, voice louder now as he pointed at the bag behind Dean’s head.  He felt his face grow hot, but he kept smiling.

“It’s, uh.  It’s just some stuff I picked up.”

“What stuff?” Cas’ eyes narrowed and Dean laughed, pushing his hands into his pockets as he shrugged.

“Close the door and I’ll show you?”  At that Cas cocked his head almost imperceptibly to the right and paused for what felt like an hour.

“Okay,” his voice sent relief through Dean’s veins and a chill down his spine.  He turned back to the bag and reached in to it.  Cas’ bare feet made soft sounds on the linoleum.

“I picked up a few things,” Dean explained while he began pulling at the top layer of tissue paper.

“Oh?” Cas sidled up behind him and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you know.” Dean’s face strained with the smile as he pulled out the panties and Cas’ hands went to his hips.

“Are those…?” Cas’ fingers tightened over the bone.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  He set the panties next to the bag and reached back to pull the package of stockings out.  Carefully, he set it down before again reaching for the garter belt.  He smoothed the fabric against the wood of his dresser and smiled when he felt Cas press against his back.

“Are you going to show me how they look on you?”

“You’re gonna have to back off me first.”  Dean felt Cas’ chest expand before he took a step back to sit at the end of the bed.  He felt the same warmth from earlier spread through his chest as he took the bra out of the bag and placed it beside the rest of his purchase, turning to face Cas.  He started with the top button.

“Is this something you’ve always been interested in?” Cas asked, stretching to lean back on his hands.  Dean shrugged.

“I’ve always wanted to try,” he said, carefully folding his shirt before setting it opposite the lingerie.  “I told you about Rhonda, and it’s sorta always been in the back of my mind since.” _I’ve never been with anyone long enough to get to this point_.  His hands moved to his fly, which he unzipped before gracelessly shucking his jeans.  He folded them, too, and put them on top of the shirt.  Finally, his boxers came off, and he turned back to cock an eyebrow at Cas before he picked up the panties.  He felt unbearably happy at the feeling of the lace that slid over his thighs.  When he got them up around his hips Cas inhaled audibly, and he felt satisfaction seep through his limbs.

“Good stuff?” he pushed confidence through his voice.

“Yes,” Cas exhaled and leaned forward again.  His eyes moved up and down, focusing on Dean’s lower half and then coming back to his face.  “You look beautiful.” His voice was so serious that Dean could only blush and laugh.

“Glad you approve,” Dean smiled and gave him a quick shimmy.  _Stockings next_.  “Wanna see more?”  He watched as Cas’ Adam’s apple moved before he nodded.  His fingers closed over the edge of the package and he opened it like he had opened it in the store, gingerly unwinding the delicate fabric from its cardboard spool.  With both pieces in his hand, he approached the bed.  He propped one foot on the edge and flashed a smile that Cas had seen him give people in bars for years before they’d gotten here, here with Dean’s dick covered only by a thin layer of lace and nothing else to hide him.

Dean moved like he had in the dressing room, rolling the fabric down so that he could pull it over his foot.  He felt more confident the second time around, but made a show of pulling the nylon slowly over his calf, letting it slide over his knee, and bring the welt to rest against his thigh.  The rate of Cas’ breathing increased.

“That working for you?” Dean smiled while he prepared the second stocking.

“Yes,” Cas said, voice huskier than Dean had ever heard.  His hair stuck up a little through the fine netting and Cas smiled.  Stockings both on, slipping a bit down his thigh without the support of a garter, Dean smiled back.

“You wanna see the rest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not without a hint of lechery.

“Yes,” Cas repeated, “but not yet.”  He turned so that they were face to face and slid a hand up the back of his thigh. A quiet calm worked its way through Dean’s body.  Cas’ hands felt smooth over the layer of fabric, tickling slightly, and they were warm.  Dean opened his eyes to see Cas staring up at him, mouth opened not more than half an inch.  His lips were dry.  His eyes were blue and wide.

“Oh?” Dean twitched as Cas’ fingertips tickled the crooks of his knees.  He leaned forward, settling with his knees astride his hips.  Dean smiled, Cas’ hands slipping to the tops of his thighs.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated.

“Cas, just. Stop,” Dean felt the blush spread from his cheeks down over his neck and chest.

“But you are, Dean,” he smiled, lip quirked to the left.  “I remade you, once.”

“Fuckin’, stop it,” Dean groaned and did his best to keep a poker face.  Cas’ hands slid to his hips, fingers pushing at his back.  He bent down at the pressure.  He hovered over Cas’ mouth, felt his breath hot and dry over his own.  It was always this simple and it never felt like it should be.

“I’ve seen you, Dean,” Cas’ voice was reverent, full of oxygen, “I’ve seen you; I have seen the deepest parts of you.” His gaze was steady and a finger slipped under the edge of the lace.  Dean held himself together just enough, not gasping but still closing his eyes as the touch swept over his perineum.

“I’ve seen your faith,” he said, voice murky, “I’ve seen the love you have for your brother.” The tip of his finger grazed sensitive skin, pressing briefly before pulling back.  Cas withdrew his hand and slid his palms up to Dean’s waist.  He shifted backward and Dean shuffled lightly on his knees to follow.  When he felt Dean wiggle in his lap, he let out a small laugh.

“And I’ll tell you again- 

“You’re being weird,” Dean interrupted before ensuring his silence with a kiss.   Cas pulled him down, moving back on his hips to let Dean slide in beside him.  They laid face to face, squirming and shifting.  The kiss was warm and wet, full of simple things that Dean could never find words for.  Cas slid his hand over his hip, over the smooth nylon and the roughness of lace.  Dean whined and his hips bucked.

“But you like it?” Dean asked.  His voice wavered like the low tide.

“Very much,” Cas’ voice carried the characteristic seriousness.  “I told you, you look beautiful.”  Dean pulled back, all green eyes and a small smile.  He touched his nose briefly to Cas’, and pushed their lips back together.  Dean felt his erection straining under the panties, felt Cas’ own pushing against his thighs.

“Stop it,” Dean insisted.  Cas smiled at that, mouth curving sideways against his own.   They pushed against one another, Dean’s hands pulling hard at the fabric beneath Cas’ shoulder blades.  Hands roved and kept pulling, until Cas’ fingertips slid underneath the waistband.  He pulled back and let the elastic snap against Dean’s hip.

“Watch it, fucker,” Dean’s voice was chastising until it wasn’t, and Cas’ hands pushed back under the border.

“You know, these are very nice,” Cas said, pulling away to look down and examine the fabric.  He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the lace catch over the ridges of his fingerprints.

“I hope so,” Dean replied.  He pressed his forehead against Cas’ to look down and smile.  “I might have bought a couple more pairs.”  His smile broadened as he felt Cas inhale.  “You can’t see yet, though,” Dean pushed back up against Cas and then he hauled himself up on one knee, throwing the other over Cas’ hips to straddle him.

“What?” Cas’ voice choked short.  He threw his head back and groaned at the feel of Dean pressing his ass against his hips, bearing down hard and fast.  Dean leaned to the nightstand on the right, overwhelmed with sudden confidence.  He had been submissive, momentarily, but now he was winning.

“You love it when I’m like this, don’t you?” Dean asked.  His voice was deeper than before.  He found the bottle under loose papers in the drawer and pulled it out.  It felt pliant under his hand.

“You like seeing me in women’s underwear,” he continued, “You like seeing me soft and easy.” Cas whimpered underneath, shifting.  Dean smiled, feeling no uncertain power beneath his hips.  He opened the bottle, flipping the cap up and squirting a generous amount onto one hand before tossing it to the side and reaching behind him.

“Wait til you see what else I’ve got to show you,” Dean chided.  The smirk was audible in his voice and Cas’ eyes didn’t shut.  He watched as Dean’s hand slipped backward.

He gasped.  His own fingers were cold and wet.  It was easy to slip one, then two in.  He inhaled and Cas breathed with him.

“I bet you can’t wait for this,” he rose up and back down on his own hand, feeling the rough slide of lace on the side of his middle finger.  He moved his right hand from where it rested on Cas’ stomach to reach for his belt buckle.  For a moment he pulled in vain until Cas’s hand came down to help him, pulling at the loop and pushing him back a fraction to shove his jeans down below his hips.

“Please, Dean,” Cas’s voice reached deep.

“Just, ah, just a second,” Dean felt ready but a new surge of power held over him.  He rose against his own hand a few more times, then leaned forward again.  He let his left hand slide back over Cas’ chest, and reached with his right to guide him.  He felt Cas’ knuckles graze his own and let go.  Both of his palms pressed against Cas’ belly and he raised his hips.

He came back down and that was it.  The tip of Cas’ cock pushed into him, then it was the crown and then the whole shaft, past layers of muscle and Dean yelled, pulling his panties front and sideward as he moved.  He locked his ankles over Cas’ calves, ensuring his hold.  He wanted, needed to be in control of this.  This was his game.  He levered himself up on his knees and bent over so that Cas was out of him and he gasped.  Slowly, he brought his face down and their foreheads touched.  Cas’ hand grazed across his backside and Dean sighed as he felt a finger slip in.

“No,” Dean growled and swatted his hand away.  A brief, contrite expression passed over Cas’ face as he reached back.  Dean grunted and pushed his hands back with more force this time.  A smile washed over him and he straightened himself, settling back down on Cas’ cock.

“There we go,” Dean kept smiling as he found a rhythm.  He relished in the slide of Cas against him, slick and hot and simple.  Beneath him, Cas gasped and clawed at his hips.  Dean leaned forward to press both hands to Cas’ chest.  He raised up and down and felt hands slip over his thighs and was surprised at the smoothness until he looked down and saw Cas’ hands sliding over the black nylon, pushing over the seams and into his panties. He couldn't control his vocal chords as Cas touched him.  The image of those hands, those work-soft angelic human hands on him, on this secret part of him, was enough.  His belly tightened.  His muscles constricted around his bones and it was like a cramp, except neurons set off responses that kept him going. The back of his neck felt hot and it was slick under Cas' grip.

Beneath him, Cas whined.  To see Dean like this, so comfortable, so fucking beautiful and so unwilling to see it, well.  He felt hot.   Every muscle in his body ached with the desire to see Dean come, to see Dean come on those panties and to see his own come run down his legs.  Cas might have been speaking, he might not’ve, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t stop thinking about white dripping down the backs of black stockings.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean kept moving, felt his thighs beginning to burn. There was no other heat, only tension and a cold cloud around them that threatened release.  He felt lost in it.  It was quick and hot and soft, and neither of them could control it.  Dean felt himself poised on that edge, and he lifted his hips up and the cold collapsed around him as heat worked its way from his spinal column.

Cas followed.  He pulsed, felt his pelvic muscles contract and his hands squeeze at Dean’s waist.  His mind drifted, like it always did, and briefly he thought of heaven.

“Cas?” Dean panted against his cheek.  It was wet against his stubble.

“You okay, buddy?”  He groaned in response.  His hips bucked feebly and he turned to press his lips to Dean’s temple.

“Fine,” he finally said.   Dean looked down and saw the mess across Cas’ clothed torso and felt a familiar drip down his thighs.

Dean moved to let Cas slide out of him.  He laughed slightly at the wetness, at the pornographic quality of their pose.  He touched Cas' face and leaned in for a kiss.  It was easy as ever.  Cas smiled.

“And I’ve still got so much to show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% the result of Jamie and I texting late one night about our mutual love of Dean in panties. Explicit might be a slight overstatement.
> 
> I obviously have no idea what Dean/Jensen's measurements would be, and this is all based on guesswork. So, apologies if it's utterly wrong. How the hell does one measure men for lingerie, anyway? (and I mean it, help a girl out). This is also unbeta'd, so feel free to point out typos.
> 
> For those of you who like visuals:  
> [Panties](http://www.hankypanky.com/Signature-Lace-Boyshort)  
> [Stockings](http://www.secretsinlace.com/product/Gennia-10-Denier-RHT-Vintage-Nylon-Stocking/RHT_Reinforced_Heel_and_Toe_Nylon_Stockings)  
> [Garter belt](http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/dita-von-teese-madame-x-garter-belt/3833282?origin=keywordsearch-personalizedsort&contextualcategoryid=0&fashionColor=Ivory&resultback=0&cm_sp=personalizedsort-_-searchresults-_-1_1_B)  
> [Bra](http://www.journelle.com/bras/wireless-bras/hanky-panky-peep-show-bralette/HAN-5D7224.html) (this one's not quite what I wrote, but I can't find the original reference)


End file.
